Spirits Born and Angels Sing
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Total revision of Back from the Grave. Shortly after the events of StarS, Kunzite breaks free from the mad scientist who has held him captive for the past three years. He is then thrust into a new mystery that involves all of the Shitennou. Nephrite/Naru.
1. He's Still Alive

**Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon**

**Spirits Born and Angels Sing**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters from the series are not mine, Dr. Portman, Paula, and the story are! This is a very old story of mine, which some may remember as _Back from the Grave_, but I am completely overhauling the small bit I had written. It takes place in animeverse shortly after **_**StarS**_** has finished, and it will focus a lot on telling anime versions of some manga events. In some ways I feel that the Generals were gypped in the anime, both by having them have green blood (making it seem that they weren't really human) and by not having the stuff about them being Mamoru's protectors in the past. Therefore, I shall endeavor to expand upon their histories. I am also throwing in a few elements from the live-action version of the story, but not too much. Mostly just Zoisite enjoying the piano and being a bit more mysterious. Thanks to all who have offered plot help, especially Dagron and Kaze, and thanks to Kaze again for the awesome title!**

* * *

**Prologue**

_**Somewhere near the coast of Oregon**_

_**towards the end of the battle against the Dark Kingdom**_

Dr. Alice Portman smirked to herself as she leaned back in the metal chair on the balcony. Slowly she took a sip from her glass of cold soda and looked out over the nearby shore, watching the waves crash against the beach. They seemed angry, as if they were taking out their frustrations upon the shore and the rocks. She supposed she should be frustrated, too, but she was not.

She had just come from a meeting of her fellow scientists at the laboratory where they worked. They had told her that they were letting her go, that they could not hold with her ideas and her practices any longer, and that she was giving all of them a bad reputation. She had calmly accepted it, having known that this day would come. But she had told them that one day her views would be the accepted methods, and that they would then regret their actions.

She was always looking for new ways to study other people, especially their minds. She felt that the key to humanity's future was in understanding how the mind worked. That in itself was not frowned upon. But what her former colleagues found despicable were her methods, most of which involved taking psychological torture to its utmost limits. She often seemed to forget that she was experimenting on living, feeling humans, treating them worse than guinea pigs or lab rats. Recently there had been a scandal due to one of her "experiments" losing his mind, and that had been when the other scientists finally put their foots down and had told her that this could no longer be tolerated.

She still did not see what all the fuss was about. After all, the subject in question had volunteered to be part of her tests, despite knowing that there were risks. But apparently the scientific world at large believed that she should never have started developing such practices in the first place. From now on, she would have to work in secret. But that was alright. She had already been preparing for that day, and her current location was actually a laboratory she had constructed for her use.

Perhaps soon she would find her perfect test subject, she mused thoughtfully to herself. She wanted someone who could withstand the torment for a long time, and not quickly cave under the pressure. It seemed to her that most people gave in too soon. But surely not everyone was so weak. If there were not strong-willed beings, it would seem too impossible that the human race still existed. And she was determined to find some of these strong-willed beings, no matter what it took.

She pushed her chair back and stood up, preparing to walk down from her balcony and take a late-night stroll through her backyard. It was always pleasant at this time of evening, and she acquired many ideas from her walks. It was an ideal time for pondering.

_The other scientists who don't believe in what I'm doing are fools,_ she said to herself in firmness. _They say I take my experimenting too far and that someday I will get in trouble. They're all just afraid of what I might discover. Cowards! All of them are cowards!_ And, she decided, they were probably just concerned about someday being overshadowed by her research. Most people only cared about being recognized and acknowledged. But she simply wanted to better humanity, and felt certain that this was the way to go about it.

By now she had reached the yard. As she took another step forward, she nearly tripped over something that was beginning to materialize right in front of her. She grabbed onto a nearby tree for balance. "What in Heaven's name . . ." she murmured.

The woman trailed off, staring in disbelief and shock as an apparently dead male body began to appear from out of nowhere, the gloved hands clutching at a strange weapon lodged deep in the bleeding chest. His shoulder-length whitish-silvery hair billowed out around him, and a fringe of bangs fell over his closed left eye. He was attired in a gray uniform and a white cape, both of which were torn and splattered with a strange greenish substance that must be his blood. He looked as though he would be a formidable enemy to encounter, were he in good health.

Dr. Portman's mouth opened in a silent gasp and she immediately dropped to her knees, trying to remove the object from the man's flesh. "It looks almost like a boomerang," she remarked in surprise, carefully placing it on the ground for future examination. "But so sharp. . . ." She had never seen anything like it before and she took great care in laying it down on the grass without getting cut herself.

"And what is the meaning of this blood?" she frowned, studying the green hue. "What could cause this phenomenon?" Had the boomerang released some sort of coloring into his system that was responsible for it? No human could have green blood without something having been done. Perhaps he was not human at all. Or if he was, perhaps he had been experimented on already by someone else.

"Dr. Portman? What's going on?"

The scientist looked up at the sound of her assistant's voice. "Come here, Paula," she directed, though she was certain Paula would not like what there was to see. She was a very sensitive girl who was the type that could faint at the sight of blood. But Dr. Portman had found her useful in the past, and therefore she had been kept around in spite of her shortcomings.

Indeed, Paula's eyes widened at the sight before her and she clapped a hand to her mouth as she came closer, apparently trying desperately not to scream. It was such a shocking, terrible sight, with all of the strange blood and the serious wounds. From his expression the victim was obviously in pain. And Paula was sickened, whereas her employer simply looked intrigued.

"None of that," Dr. Portman said sternly, bending over the body and searching for signs of life. She ignored the blood spilling onto her hands and listened for any breath or heartbeat. "Take that weapon into the lab and have it tested." Never did she look at Paula as she was doing her examination. She had been around the younger girl for so many ages that always she could seem to sense her feelings on matters such as this.

"But . . . but . . . doctor . . . where did he come from?" Paula exclaimed, still staring at the man's form in horror. The strong face held so much agony, and it did not seem to be altogether physical. What had he been through? And how had he wound up here? It did not make sense at all! It was not possible for someone to appear out of seemingly nowhere.

Dr. Portman began to ignore her, as she had become accustomed to doing over the past few months. "Tis a pity if he's dead," she muttered. "He looks as though he would make a very interesting test subject for my latest experiment. Perhaps he's the sort of person whom I have been looking for." Carefully she pulled back the cloth of his torn jacket, trying to get a better look at the wound.

"Another experiment?!" Paula cried in alarm. She felt her insides twist at the thought. That was the last thing this person needed. He was already so badly hurt, and might not even survive, and Dr. Portman only cared about her experiments. "Doctor, don't you think that we should just take care of him and then let . . ."

She was interrupted as the dying man gave a gasp and softly began uttering a strange-sounding name over and over. At first Paula could not catch it, but then she realized that it was apparently the name of a certain mineral, and she was confused.

"He's still alive," Dr. Portman said with a nasty smile, looking up at Paula again. "Help me get him inside. I'm certain that with the advanced methods I've developed, we can save him." But of course she wanted something from the man in exchange for saving his life. Not for years had Dr. Portman shown an actual kindness to anyone for the sake of kindness. And once she began her experimenting, he might wish that he had perished.

Paula stood stone still, her gaze fixed on the man. Here was a real person. He had lived, had loved, had now been horrendously wounded. And Dr. Portman only cared because he was a new possible guinea pig! It indeed seemed a worse fate than death.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Dr. Portman snapped with impatience. "Assist me! Now!"

Biting her lip, Paula finally turned and walked back to the building to retrieve a gurney. Every step felt heavier. Why could they not simply help the man, instead of having this cruel plan to torment him further? Maybe she should call an ambulance once she was inside. Dr. Portman would not be able to stop them from taking the man with them. Of course, Paula would no doubt be punished for such an action. But at least the stranger would be safe.

The electronic doors slid open as she stepped up to them. Making her way inside, she looked to the telephone resting on the desk to her right. She would just go to it now and dial. It would be a quick call, less than a minute. Then she would not need to worry about the man. She picked up her pace, hurrying to the device and grabbing up the receiver. Her eyes widened. There was not a dial tone.

"Somethin' wrong?"

She froze at the sound of Dr. Portman's henchman's voice. The receiver dropped into the cradle as she turned to face the broad and dangerous man. He was eyeing her with suspicion. Did he know what she had tried to do? Could he have even disconnected the telephone service, on the doctor's orders? But . . . Dr. Portman would not have had time to give such an order.

"T-there's a man outside," she said at last, "and he's badly wounded. The doctor sent me in here to get a stretcher. . . ."

"Maybe you should do it then, instead of messing with the phone." The man leered at her, wheeling a gurney into view.

Paula's eyes narrowed. She would not be intimidated. "I thought maybe we should call an ambulance instead," she admitted, watching as other lackeys began to wander into the room.

"If the doctor wants to treat him herself, then that's what'll happen," retorted a second man. "Are you going against her wishes?" They began to wheel the stretcher to the door.

Paula followed them. "I only want what's best for him," she said.

"She's not going to like your insubordination," smirked the first.

"I'll tell her myself," Paula answered.

But she fell silent again as they arrived at the spot. Dr. Portman was still bent over the motionless form, and as she straightened and moved out of the way, Paula's heart caught in her throat. His injuries were worse than she had thought. And the greenish substance that she had not known what to think of must be blood. It had to be, but why would a human have green blood? Would average doctors even know how to deal with this? Maybe Dr. Portman was right and only her methods could save him. Maybe, once he was recovering, Paula could tell him about her superior and she could help him escape. But for now . . . now it likely would be best for him to stay here.

And so she observed as the doctor's thugs supported the injured man, lifting him onto the stretcher. "What could've happened to him?" she exclaimed at last, sadness in her kind eyes.

Now Dr. Portman gave a sadistic smile. "I intend to find that out. Among other things." She looked at the man's uniform as she and Paula moved to walk alongside the gurney. "Hmmm. A high-ranking officer of some sort, it seems," she remarked. "But he's obviously not from around here." Pausing at the door, she looked back at her assistant. Her eyes were stern. "Don't forget the weapon," she said in a clipped tone before going inside.

Paula knew better than to argue when her employer got like this. With a noticeable gulp the younger woman went back for the boomerang, picking it up gingerly with a scarf. Saving him from Dr. Portman's madness seemed an almost insurmountable task. But she would try.

* * *

Dr. Portman reached to switch on the lights as they arrived at the operating room. The man was quite still on the gurney, the only indications of life being the slight rise and fall of his chest and the audible rasp of his breathing. He would need immediate care if there was any hope of saving his life. And she would also need to test his blood for the type. It was possible that she would not be able to give him any kind of a transfusion, due to the odd color of his life-giving substance. It all depended on what was causing it.

With a wicked smirk she crossed the room to the gurney and leaned down, unbuttoning the man's uniform coat to get a better look at the wound. "Hurt badly, it seems," she mused. "Who are you? Where are you from? And how did you magically appear in front of me?"

Slowly the man's ice-blue eyes began to open and he stared at Dr. Portman with an eerie and vacant gaze. He was obviously delirious. Again he uttered the strange name and the woman realized that he thought she was the one to whom the name belonged.

"That person isn't here," Dr. Portman told him, her tone matter-of-fact. "You're in the care of Alice Portman now, my friend, and I would recommend that you cooperate with me."

Her patient gave her a confused look as he began to slip into oblivion once more.

"Yes, you should rest," Dr. Portman smiled. "And when you have started to recover, then I will begin prying into the secrets of your mind."

She turned, never looking over her shoulder at her lackeys. "Prep him for surgery," she directed as she walked to the adjoining room.

"Right," nodded the first henchman. "Oh, and boss? Your assistant was trying to call for an ambulance when you sent her in to get the stretcher."

She paused at the doorway. It was not surprising. Paula had grown so disapproving lately of what they were doing. She had suspected that something like this might happen, if she were ever to attempt something such as what she was now planning. Paula would not like it at all.

"Deal with her," she directed, "after you finish with him." A cruel smile slipped over her features. "But don't kill her. Who knows. Maybe she can be useful herself." With that she passed into the room.

Behind her, the lackey sneered. Oh, how he would hate to be in Paula's place. And the man laying on the gurney was not going to have an easy time of it, either.

Who knew—one of these days, the doctor might discover she had created a monster.


	2. Revive! Three Years Later

**Notes: I know some people were concerned that there would be a female Zoisite in this fic. There is not. He, however, will be a mixture of all of his incarnations, as I have never cared for anime Zoisite very much in either the original or the dub.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

_**Three years later**_

_She stood looking into the crystals that lined the room. A neverending display of the past was before her eyes. Again and again the moments replayed—some happy, some joyous, but many sad and tragic. And there was much work to be done._

_She raised her staff, focusing on four images that remained the same—depicting lives at a standstill, or that had ended._

"_It's time," she said. "Awaken and take your rightful places, as your services are now needed once again."_

_The images glowed._

* * *

The room was dark, the curtains pulled across the old and uncleaned windows. Only a small amount of light crept through the openings at the top and bottom and the sides, illuminating a space that once had been occupied and loved. The furniture, still intact, stood as if waiting for its master to return. With a bit of dusting and more light, the room would be alive again, cared for and loved.

For countless years, the door with the golden handle had never been opened. Silence had reigned in the once-luxurious space for eons. It had forgotten what sound was like. But suddenly, inexplicably, the handle clicked and turned. The door swung aside, squealing on its hinges. It was a hard task to learn about movement after being so still, but though the door protested, it was also exclaiming in surprise and joy.

Green eyes blinked, staring at the space in amazement and awe. Reddish hair, pulled back in a ponytail, swished as its owner stepped inside. A white-gloved hand rested on the doorframe.

"It is still here," he mused, his voice expressing a deep sense of nostalgia. "I haven't been back in so long. . . ." With his other hand, he absently twirled a loose piece of fiery hair around his index finger. The returning memories trickling into his mind were fleeting, and yet were leaving lasting impressions on his soul. He had been here many times before . . . it had been his sanctuary, but not for countless years. Not since he had been the protector of . . . someone. Ah, there was a memory that was not fully back yet.

He walked over the soft carpet, his goal the majestic onyx object standing near the window. A hand trailed over the smooth surface and down to the lid. He lifted it, gazing at the ivory keys hidden underneath. As he sank onto the piano bench, a long-ago melody began to roll from his mind to his fingers. Yes, the music . . . the music would help all of them remember. Wherever the others were, dead or alive, they would hear.

"Kunzite," he whispered. "Nephrite. Jadeite. Listen and remember!"

* * *

He was not dead. At least, he did not believe that it was so. Sensations were returning to him, brought on by . . . something. Something . . . or someone, in the far distant past, was reaching out to him. The melancholy notes he could hear . . . were they in his mind, or otherwise for only him? Or did anyone else hear too?

Now he could feel as well as hear. He was laying on something soft, but something sharp was digging into his arm. And something else was beeping.

He was not alone, either. Someone was there, watching, someone unwelcome.

Ice-blue eyes slipped open, focusing on the blonde woman standing to the side. The crisp white coat indicated her profession to be likely either a doctor or a scientist. Or both. Behind her glasses, her eyes gleamed in interest.

"You're awake?" she mused. "How intriguing. I've kept you in an induced state of unconsciousness. What could bring you out of it so suddenly?"

The patient's expression twisted in revulsion. "You _kept_ me unconscious?" he repeated. "Why? Who are you?"

"At first it was really the only way to save your life, my dear Kunzite," she smiled in reply. "But as you began to recover, I decided I could learn more from you if you weren't able to get up and try to escape. So you've been in varying states of sedation." She surveyed him with a displeasing, thoughtful air. "And you've spoken quite a bit."

". . . Is that how you know my name?" The white-haired man's voice was cold as steel.

The memories were vague in his mind, but growing more clear as he further awoke. After Zoisite's death, he had grown bitter against the Sailor Soldiers, and particularly Sailor Moon. The last time he had tried to attack them, his own weapon had been turned against him. He remembered calling to Zoisite as he had died, and then . . .

He had not died? How had he arrived in this unholy place? The woman who had spared his life had not done it out of kindness. From the way she was acting, it sounded more as though she had wanted him to further some purpose of her own. But . . . to learn from him? Learn what? Was she a new spy?

"You could say that." She smirked. "You spoke a lot of a place called the Dark Kingdom, and someone named Zoisite. I should like to visit this kingdom and explore its secrets."

"Never." The light in the room was practically blinding. What he really wanted was to reach up and place a hand over his eyes. But to show any kind of weakness in this situation was what would be the very worst thing. He would defy her. And once he had gathered enough strength, he would be leaving.

"That is the repayment I receive for saying you?" she said, not surprised but with a hint of displeasure in her voice.

"Why did you save me?" His eyes pierced hers, but without learning any of her secrets. "Are you a spy working with the Sailor Soldiers?"

"Certainly not." She gestured at the equipment in the room. "I work for myself, and only myself, to study the secrets of the human mind. But are you quite human at all? That is what is puzzling me." She walked away from him, taking a small vial between her fingers. Through the clear glass, an odd substance could be seen. Kunzite's eyes narrowed further. He knew what it was.

"Your blood is green," she declared, "yet your body seems to function the same as any normal human's. How did this phenomenon happen? Did someone else experiment on you in the past?" Her eyes glittered. "Or are you not human at all?"

"That isn't your concern." His voice never raised, but it carried a definite warning and an edge. So she was a mad scientist. If he gathered his energy, would he be able to teleport? Though it would not be wise to try it without knowing a destination. Perhaps his quarters at the Dark Kingdom? But did this woman still have his boomerang weapon? He did not want to leave it behind with her. He would need to find it before he went anywhere. And, looking down at the robe he was wearing, he made another decision. He should try to find his clothes.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he threw back the thin blanket. The cord of whatever was in his arm tugged at him as it was dragged by the covers. He only gave it a cursory glance as he ripped it out of his flesh. A machine beeped in protest.

"What are you doing?" Now the woman sounded angry. "I'm not going to let you leave." She tried to reach for him, but he responded by pushing her aside. The rest of the useless cords joined the first as he started to push himself off of the bed.

"You don't have to let me," he said. His powers were weak, but he could still sense their presence. Holding out his hand, he concentrated and channeled a blast of light from his palm. The woman gave a cry of surprise as she fell back onto the bed. He turned, his shoulder-length white hair whipping with the motion.

There was a locker across the room, which he was now facing. Would it hold his clothes, and possibly his weapon? He took a step forward, his legs shaking. He had lost all sense of the passage of time, but his wound was healed—save for the scar that now marred his skin. Had the woman ever made him get up and walk during this time? He did not remember it, but it would seem that she must have done so. Otherwise, he should not be able to walk at all right now, after having been invalid and then experimented on for however long it had been.

Reaching the locker, he pulled open the door. His clothes were inside, but he would have to put them on later. The woman was not staying dazed for long. She was pressing a button, yelling for her men to come to her. Gathering the apparel in a bundle, he gave the locker a quick check. His weapon was not here. But nevermind. He left the room at a brisk pace. The men were thundering down the hall from another direction. He would go the opposite way.

Still, he would have to find sanctuary soon. His powers were not strong enough yet to do much. He was aware of that. At the end of the hall was a door marked "Office." Pulling on the knob, he brought the already-ajar door open enough that he could slip inside. He closed it after him, making the motion as silent as possible. Turning the lock for good measure, he moved to survey his current surroundings.

It was typical of an office, with a desk and chairs and filing cabinets. The nameplate on the desk read "Alice Portman." Was that the woman who had been watching him? She seemed to be the one in charge.

He crossed the room, gripping the handle of the top filing cabinet drawer to ease it open. As it slid out, an object wrapped in a clear plastic bag caught his immediate attention. It was his boomerang weapon, still coated in his blood. His eyes narrowed. This was the last moment it would stay in Portman's care. He grabbed it out, lifting it by the top of the bag. The sight of it was bringing his final memories to the surface with much more clarity.

_Sailor Moon. . . ._

He gritted his teeth. Had Queen Beryl ever defeated her and the other Sailor Soldiers? Or had they toppled the Dark Kingdom at last?

He turned, leaving the drawer open as his gaze fell upon the desk. A day-to-day calender, very practical and no-nonsense, had been placed on the left side, near where he was standing. And the printed date turned his blood cold.

"Three years," he breathed in disbelief. Taking the device in one hand, he stared at the numbers as if they could be proven wrong by the mere force of his eyes. He had been unaware of the world around him for _three years._ Almost anything could have happened in that amount of time. . . .

And what was that music he had heard as he had been regaining consciousness? It had seemed to be what had brought on his revival. In some deep part of his mind, it was almost as if he could recall having heard it before. But the memory was just out of his reach.

His frown deepened. The only thing he was completely sure about was that he had not heard it at any time during his tenure in the Dark Kingdom. Yet . . . if not there, then where? Where had he even been before the Dark Kingdom? Queen Beryl had insisted that he and the others had been nothing until she had taken them in as part of her army. And, not remembering any other life, he had accepted that existence.

The music, however, was tugging at something in his very heart and soul. Would he hear it again? It had faded after he had fully come back to his senses.

The doorknob rattling drew him back to the present. "We know you're in there," a voice threatened. "Open up! You're not gonna be hurt. You're the doctor's prize patient."

Kunzite's lip curled in revulsion. He would not be anyone's prize patient, most of all hers. Maybe he would be capable of teleportation now, if he tried. If he gathered every ounce of energy he had, then perhaps . . .

A loud crash and the shattering of glass accompanied the sight of the door flying free of its hinges. Two of Portman's henchmen were standing in the doorway, sneering at the man inside. In spite of their claims, both looked ready and willing for a fight. And Kunzite did not have the time for anything so petty.

Ripping open the bag, he drew out the boomerang and let it fly from his hand. The two thugs could only cry in first surprise and then pain as it sliced into their shoulders. Then it circled the space and began to come back to its owner. Skillfully catching it without receiving injury, Kunzite poured all of his strength into the task he now needed to accomplish. In a flash of light he was gone, leaving the lackeys to stand and stare and curse him in shock.

* * *

Zoisite gazed off into the distance, lost in thought. The music was helping him as well, bringing shadowy images of the present to his mind. He had limited powers of clairvoyance, and the piece he was playing was drawing them out from where they had slumbered until his revival. Kunzite had been captured, nursed to health by a mad scientist, and now he was regaining enough strength and presence of mind to attempt escaping. And he was not in Japan at all, but somewhere else, somewhere far away. But he would be back soon.

_Kunzite. . . . His mentor and friend . . . and something else?_

Green eyes widened in shock and disbelief. No, there had not been anything else . . .

But what about their time in the Dark Kingdom, which he recollected only in bits and pieces? Being restored had left him with scattered memories from both his lifetimes, not only the long ago past. His fingers began to slow in the melody as more such scenes and knowledge flashed into his mind.

Kunzite recalled about the Dark Kingdom as well, but his memories of the Silver Millennium had not yet awakened at all. The music had restored him to consciousness, however, and sooner or later the rest would follow. But because of the bitterness he still held, it might take longer.

_He was bitter because Zoisite had been killed. . . ._

Jadeite was still locked in the Eternal Sleep. If he was alive, he could be brought out of his suspended animation. But the crystal in which he was encased needed to be broken. The music could not accomplish that feat. Someone would need to go back to the Dark Kingdom and release him.

And Nephrite . . .

Nephrite had been killed, but it was strange. No remembrance of how it had happened was coming to Zoisite's mind. Maybe he had never known the circumstances. He frowned. It was strange that he would not recollect _something._ Or to even be shown the truth as he was playing. Perhaps that would come later. Surely the _how_ did not matter so much. Nephrite should be restored now, since Zoisite had been brought back to life.

But he was not gaining any knowledge of Nephrite's current fate, either. That was also odd, considering that he could see Kunzite's and Jadeite's locations perfectly clear in his mind. Either Nephrite had not been restored yet, for some reason, or else Zoisite was being blocked from seeing anything concerning him. But . . . why would that be?

His eyes narrowed as his fingers continued to travel over the keys. Whatever he was not remembering was dark . . . ominous. And it was making him uneasy.

Still . . . how horrible could it be?

He would not think about it for now. The most important thing was restoring all of their memories of the past. Though he did not know what, he was aware that a great evil was lurking on the horizon. Perhaps that was why they had been restored, in order to join the fight against it. And it would require them to be at their full strength to defeat it.

* * *

_She was standing at the window of a small home, gazing out into what seemed to be an ancient Japanese village. People were milling up and down the dirt road, but she could care less about them. She was focused on a tall and majestic figure coming from another direction. He looked as though the last place he would belong was in a town such as this. He carried himself with dignity and grace, observing the villagers as he passed them by. Though she only saw his silhouette, she could tell that he seemed focused on a particular goal as well._

_Then she was running to the door, hauling it open as she ran out into the street to meet him. He came to attention, watching her, and as she drew closer he gave a soft smile. His eyes were a deep blue, the color of the sea, and his naturally curled locks tumbled down his back. She recognized him instantly._

"_Nephrite!" she exclaimed. "You're back!"_

"_Of course I am," he answered. "I said I would come back once the danger had been stopped. Did you think it was a lie?"_

_She shook her head. "I knew it wasn't," she said. "I'm just so happy you're here!"_

Naru Osaka's eyes flew open. She was laying on her side in bed, clutching the pillow. Her auburn hair, free of the usual bow, drifted in front of her face. But she barely noticed. Instead she pulled herself into a sitting position, the quilt falling from around her shoulders. Outside, the moonlight shined in from the balcony.

"What a weird dream," she said to the room. "It was almost more like a memory." She frowned, taking up the pillow and hugging it to her chest. "But that can't be true. It looked like it was so long ago."

A sigh escaped her lips as she looked toward the spot from which the light was coming. Nephrite had come to her balcony on his last night alive. Through the years there were still times when she would wake up thinking she heard him calling to her, and she would run to the balcony to see—only to remember the truth.

Umino had asked her to come to the science fair with him tomorrow. She had said she would, and she still planned to go, but at the same time she was dreading it. They had not spoken further on what to do about their relationship since he had told her that she needed to choose between him and the ghost. And she was certain that he was hoping to get into that at some point the next day.

The problem was, she still did not know what to tell him. Several times she had determined to say that she would put Nephrite completely behind her and that his ghost would no longer haunt their relationship. But every time she was about to pick up the phone and call Umino, the feeling would come over her that she should not, or she would wonder for sure if her mind was made up. This threw further doubt on her decision. She did not want to keep Umino waiting, but she also did not want to tell him something and give him hope when she would regret it shortly afterward.

This dream was bothering her, too. She had seen parts of it for the last several nights, but this was the first time she had been allowed to witness the identity of the man to whom she had been running. Why was it Nephrite? And what was the meaning of the setting? Ancient Japan had not been on her mind at all. It made so very little sense.

Setting the pillow aside, she crossed the room to the balcony doors and pulled back the curtains. It was an average night in Juuban. Though . . . it was getting cloudy awfully fast. She frowned, looking toward the moon. A strange cloud was starting to pass in front of it. Juuban was often a prime target for weird things. Was this maybe another one beginning?

No, that was silly. She was tired and letting her thoughts run away with her. It was just a storm coming.

She turned, letting the curtains fall back into place as she walked back to her bed.

Well, she was half-right.

There was definitely a storm coming.


	3. Reveal! Usagi's Secret is Out!

**Notes: I seem to have been mistaken. I'm using a couple of other live-action elements as well. I'm finding it a good challenge to take both live-action and manga elements and adapt them for animeverse.**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Half out of instinct, half because he had determined it was the most logical place to go, Kunzite had teleported to the Dark Kingdom. He was not certain what he had expected to find after three years. Possibly that Beryl was still there, deep in the underground palace that they had commandeered, and still scheming against the Sailor Soldiers—or perhaps that they were dead and no longer a threat. Possibly that she was defeated and the palace had been abandoned. Maybe, even, in some morbid corner of his mind, that the Sailor Soldiers had taken it over and transformed it into something they would find fitting.

He had not really thought it would be completely decimated.

Now he was standing in its ruins, shock and disbelief eclipsing all other emotions. So Beryl had been eliminated. He really should have expected it, when the Sailor Soldiers had been converging on the Dark Kingdom. He had been defeated at D Point. Afterwards, they must have traveled until reaching the palace. And then . . . _this _had happened. . . .

He took a step forward. There was not even a roof now, of earth or of architecture. The Dark Kingdom was a sunken hole in the ground. Wind and snow swirled around the broken pillars, crumbled ceiling, and demolished walls, all but burying them in this frozen tomb. _This_ was his legacy. This was all that he had to show for the many years of service he had put into the Dark Kingdom.

And yet . . . even if Queen Beryl had still reigned here, would she have wanted him back? Maybe she would have been disgusted that he would show his face, after so many failures. Perhaps she would have condemned him to the same fate as Jadeite, frozen alive for all eternity. Or maybe she would have sent him on to join Zoisite, as he had longed for when he had believed he would die at Sailor Moon's hands.

When he thought about it, why on earth had he stayed after Zoisite's death? It had been Zoisite's rash behavior that had led to his death, but Queen Beryl had been the one to deliver the fatal blow. Instead of being outraged and refusing to serve her any further, Kunzite's loyalty had not wavered. He had blamed the Sailor Soldiers for Zoisite's death, and had devoted himself to destroying them. At the time he had not given it a second thought, but why?

He stopped, his hair flying out behind him as the furious wind played and toyed with the whitish locks. It did not make sense. He had never once despised the Queen, had never even considered that she was responsible. But she had been! As he stood here now, it was all so clear in his mind. She had killed Zoisite, leaving him to die in Kunzite's arms with his last request of "being able to die beautifully." If he had been angry with anyone, it should have been her.

A hand flew to his forehead. What was happening to him? It was as if now he was at last beginning to see everything clearly, whereas before he had been kept under an odd state of sedation that he had not even known was there. Had Queen Beryl used her powers to keep him from rebelling against her, or even at least resenting her? When he had regained consciousness in Portman's laboratory, he had not thought of needing to return to Beryl, though his resentment of the Sailor Soldiers had lingered.

Or had it? He had accused that woman of being a spy for the Sailor Soldiers, and he had felt a surge of anger at the thought of them when he had found the calender date, but as he walked among the wreckage of the Dark Kingdom he felt only a numb coldness. Maybe it was only because he had not fully processed it all yet. Maybe he would grow furious after a while and even want to find them and have his revenge. What was even left for him now? He was still alive, but it was a hollow existence.

Something glittered just ahead of him. The snow swirled around whatever it was, having buried it almost completely in the drifts. A frown graced Kunzite's features as he walked ahead to where it was laying.

A face frozen in pain stared back at him. His eyes narrowed. _Jadeite!_ He had stumbled upon the first Shitennou's resting place.

Bending down, he began to brush and then claw at the snow covering the crystal. It must have been protected for some time, the bit of roof overhead crumbling only recently to expose the coffin to the snow. Otherwise, it seemed that after three years it would be completely concealed and buried under countless amounts of the powder.

Jadeite looked the same as he had three years ago. Not that Kunzite would think the boy would have aged in his prison. He was surely dead; no one could survive such a fate. His blank eyes gazed up at nothing, never blinking. It was eerie, considering that once he had been alive and well just as Kunzite was now.

But it was strange, that a sense of melancholia was suddenly washing over Kunzite. He had not had much to do with Jadeite, finding the younger man foolish and unprepared for the task Beryl had given to him. Yet now something else was tugging at his mind, just as it had when he had tried in vain to remember where he had heard that music. Why was he getting an image of him and Jadeite, along with the other two, engaging in a peaceful sparring session? There had not been anything of the kind at the Dark Kingdom. At times he had trained Zoisite, but that was all, and there had not been such a relaxed and peaceful atmosphere as he saw and felt from the nonexistent memory.

_Or was it nonexistent?_

What had come before the Dark Kingdom? They must have lived before that, or Queen Beryl would not have needed to "take them in." But his mind was still blank.

He looked back to Jadeite's frozen form. He himself was free of such a state, and yet he did not feel that he was enjoying more liberty. There was nothing for either of them now.

Why had he been spared? If he had died, and could have gone on to Zoisite, he would have been at peace. Nephrite would have said that the stars were mocking him. Kunzite would have scoffed at such talk. But who knew; maybe it was not so far-fetched.

He sank down onto a fallen pillar. There was still a bit of shelter from the elements, but not much that would be useful if he continued to remain. Yet he did not know where to go. For now he would stay here, with the other dead.

* * *

Usagi could not help but let out a yawn as she slumped back in her seat. The teacher was droning on something about math, but she had tuned it out once she had begun to lose interest. Which had been almost at the beginning, of course. Anything scientific could not hold her interest for very long. She could force herself to figure it out if she really concentrated, but today she did not have any motivation.

She stared over the room. Ami was listening studiously, pencil in hand. Naru was staring off into the distance, but suddenly snapped back to the present and looked to the teacher. Most other students were listening, but one of the boys was goofing off by making doodles on his paper. Unheeding, the teacher kept talking. Now she was writing out today's problems on the board. None of it made sense to Usagi.

_I'm so bored!_ she moaned to herself.

Minako was absent today, too; Makoto had said something about her having a cold and staying home.

Actually, when Usagi thought about it, Minako had come down with quite a few colds and sniffles in the past days. She frowned. It was not like Minako to slack off school. Even Usagi _came_ to school, despite always being late. Sometimes she and Minako would run there together, if they happened to meet while trying to break the speed record. And they both tried to do the work, even if in some classes their minds wandered and they were very close to failing.

Maybe after school she should go over and try to talk to Minako. Yes, that was a good idea. And right now she could think about what she would say instead of trying to sort out the complicated mess of the math problems. This was much more important, after all!

A sudden _crash_ outside the building interrupted the teacher's spiel. She frowned, turning with narrowed eyes. "Who did that?" she demanded, her hands going to her hips.

The students were staring towards the window. "It was out there, Moto-sensei!" exclaimed one girl, pointing at the glass.

Ms. Moto's eyes narrowed further. "Oh is it?" she said, walking over in determination. "Well, we'll see about that." Another clatter echoed throughout the room as she approached the window, and as she moved to open it, the glass shattered. A cry of pain tore from her lips as she flung her arms up to protect her face. Behind her, some of the girls were screaming as well. Something was coming in through the window, something that most certainly did not belong.

Usagi leaped up from her desk in horror. It looked like something akin to a huge octopus with sharp teeth. Tentacles were flying in all directions. Two of them curled around the shocked teacher, beginning to squeeze unbearably. She gasped in pain, only able to turn her head to the side to look at the petrified students. "Get out of here!" she ordered, her voice strangled and desperate.

Many of the students wasted no time in running to the door and fleeing into the hall to look for help. But soon other screams came from the corridor. This was not the only monster that had come inside the building.

Usagi swallowed the lump in her throat, scanning the room for some sign of Ami. The other girl was nowhere to be found. Had she run out as well, hoping to transform and then return? She may have been caught by one of the creatures running through the halls. Hopefully Makoto would find her and they would be able to fight the monsters together. Meanwhile, there was this thing in here.

"Hey you!"

Usagi whirled at the familiar voice. Naru was still in the room, her eyes flashing as she gripped a chair. The octopus monster was perking up, looking with suspicion in her direction.

"You know, I'm sick and tired of things like you coming in and hurting people!" Naru yelled, her eyes flashing as she began to lift the chair off the floor. Usagi was chilled by her tone of voice, which was angry but mostly filled with pain. Usagi had rarely heard Naru speak like that.

In fact, she had not seen as much of Naru outside of school as she would have liked. Mostly she had been spending time with the other Soldiers, and Mamoru, and had not had much time for her old friend. It was something she deeply regretted, and since the final battle with Galaxia had come to an end, she had tried to rectify things. Naru had seemed like her usual cheery self, but now she was different. She was going to fight. Raising the chair half-above her head, she threw it at the monster.

The chair made contact right in its face. The thing roared in response, its grip on Ms. Moto loosening enough that she was able to wiggle free. But then it recovered and realized what was happening. More of its tentacles snaked out, grabbing for Naru as well as the teacher.

"Naru-chan!" Usagi screamed, lunging forward as she tackled her best friend out of the way. They tumbled across the floor, crashing against the wall.

Still a bit dazed, Naru looked up at the other girl. "What is that thing?!" she cried. The agony was all the more apparent in her eyes now that Usagi was up close.

Usagi swallowed hard. "I don't know," she replied, helplessness washing over her. She would never be able to get outside and transform now, but Usagi Tsukino could not beat this creature. Would she have to transform in front of Naru? And the teacher? The Soldiers' identities were supposed to be kept secret. But how could she just let the destruction continue? She herself would be killed if she did nothing. And Naru . . .

"What is it?" Naru said again, her voice growing soft. "There's always something hurting people here. Would it be different somewhere else? Would Nephrite have been okay if we hadn't been in Juuban?"

Usagi's heart twisted. "Naru-chan . . ." So that was it. She was still thinking of Nephrite. Had Usagi been completely blind, to think that everything was perfectly alright once Naru had started to go out with Umino? Naru could usually manage to smile and say that everything was okay, whether she felt like that inside or not. Maybe Naru had come to care for Umino, but she had never been able to forget Nephrite. And something had happened, maybe when the monster had attacked, or maybe something that had been building for a while, that had brought those feelings to a head.

A scream from Ms. Moto brought them to attention. She had struggled to crawl to her desk and then to stand and attack the monster before it could go after the girls. It had turned its attention back to her, wrapping its tentacles around her once more. It would kill her if this continued.

There was no choice.

Usagi bit her lip. "Naru-chan, I have to tell you a secret," she said as she started to stand. "But you can't tell anyone!"

Naru stared at her in disbelief. "A secret . . . ?! Usagi, this isn't the time . . . !"

But she trailed off as Usagi turned to face the monster. "Moon Eternal Makeup!" she cried. Lights and ribbons and wings enveloped her form, replacing her school uniform with a much different kind of sailor suit. Now she bore a shorter skirt trimmed in yellow, red, and blue, pink puffed sleeves, and white angel wings on her back.

"Sailor Moon," Naru whispered, her eyes wide.

Yet she was not as surprised as Usagi might have thought she would be. Naru had suspected this even before the incident with the Black Moon family, and though she had not expressly revealed her suspicions at that time, she had found Usagi and revealed her certainty that Usagi knew the meaning behind the strange events that had befallen the city. But when Usagi had laughed nervously and denied it, Naru had promised to not ask any more questions and instead had only requested that Usagi come back safely to school. Shortly after that, the black crystal had vanished from Tokyo and all had been well again for a while. Usagi had indeed come back safe. And though Naru had kept her promise and had never asked anything more, she had remained sure of Sailor Moon's true identity.

It made sense, too, with how little free time Usagi had had of late. It had been during the brief interludes when no monsters had attacked that they had been able to spend time together again. Whenever strange things started happening, Usagi was suddenly very busy.

"Hold it right there!" Usagi was calling to the monster. It stopped, turning to look at her in annoyance at being interrupted.

"I'm the pretty sailor-suited soldier of love and justice, Sailor Moon!" she exclaimed, striking her trademark pose. "And in the name of the Moon, I will punish you!"

The toothy octopus roared in response, sweeping more of its tentacles at her. She could only yelp as she leaped out of the way, coming to land on one of the few desks that was still upright. Its legs were prompt swept out from under it, sending it and her crashing to the floor. Then the creature was bearing down on her. She had to act quickly.

Regaining her bearings, she gathered her concentration and drew out the Rainbow Moon Chalice. "Starlight Honeymoon . . ."

She was interrupted as she was grabbed up by one leg and dangled upsidedown. A cry of alarm tore from her lips. The rod was beginning to slip from her hand, but she could not let it go. She could break free now if she could call out the attack without being cut off again.

By now Naru was on her feet, staring in horror at the scene. "Sailor Moon!" she cried. Was there something she could do to help? She always hated being attacked by the monsters and never being able to do anything about it, but what she hated even more was when they went after those she cared about. For once she wanted to be able to help them. She never wanted anyone else to die while she could only watch.

"Starlight Honeymoon Therapy Kiss!" Usagi screamed the attack much faster than usual. But it did not seem to matter. The beast shrieked, dropping both Usagi and the unconscious Ms. Moto as it vanished into dust.

Usagi could only stare at the ashes, the sorrow beginning to grow in her heart. Once again the respite had ended. It never could last long. Every time they thought an enemy was vanquished, something new would take its place.

And there were still others in trouble. Ms. Moto would be alright, with some rest. But the screams from the halls were very prominent.

"Naru-chan!" she directed, looking to her friend. "Please look after Moto-sensei."

Naru gave a shaking nod. "Sailor Moon . . ." She looked firmly into the other's eyes. "Come back safe."

Usagi blinked but nodded. "Don't worry!" she smiled, gripping the Rainbow Moon Chalice tightly as she ran to the door.

Naru sighed to herself, looking from the teacher's limp form to the broken window.

"I always do," she said quietly.

* * *

Minako was sitting on the edge of her bed, hugging a pillow as she stared at the floor. Her eyes were veiled, but Artemis could imagine the emotions that might be prevalent in them, all of which he hated to see from her. Sadness, fear . . . confusion and anger. . . . She gripped tighter at the pillow.

Artemis had remained quiet for a while, as she had wanted, but now he took a cautious step forward. She had been there for so long, ever since she and her parents had returned home, and she had not said anything beyond a brief explanation of what had happened. He was still trying to process what she had told him. And he was so worried about her, especially when she just kept sitting there like that. . . .

He gazed up at her. "Minako . . ."

She did not respond. Either she was ignoring him or she was lost in her thoughts of the day's chaos.

Minako had felt dizzy off and on in the past days, usually shortly after waking up. She had thought it was a cold at first, or the flu, but when it came and went as it did it seemed different. Then the headaches had begun to come on as well. And before any of that had started, she had felt abnormally tired.

She had tried to hide the dizziness and headaches from her parents, not thinking it was serious and not wanting them to worry. But this morning she had collapsed when getting ready for school. Despite insisting she was fine, she had been hurried to the doctor. And she was still trying to process what she had been told.

Artemis dug his claws into the floor. It was unbearable, to see Minako like this. It made him feel even more helpless. He wanted to help her so badly, and yet he did not know how, especially when he could not know what she was thinking.

Suddenly she set the pillow aside. Artemis stared at her. She was smiling brightly, like the Minako he had always known.

"Something could still change!" she said. "I'm not going to let this bring me down. And I don't want anyone to worry about me, so don't you do it."

Artemis swallowed. "Minako . . ." Now he was again not sure what to say. Of course she would put on a happy face. And she would struggle to keep it even if her soul was being shredded inside. She would not let anyone see her sadness and fear.

She stood up. "Don't say anything to the others about this, either," she said.

He stared in disbelief. "But . . . Minako, they'd want to know!" he protested.

She shook her head. "Let's wait a while," she said. "Maybe I'll be okay and they'll never have had to know at all. For now I'll just say I had a bad case of the flu."

Artemis sat down. It was always hard to talk to Minako when she got like this. And this was the only way she knew how to deal with what she had found out today. It was a way to keep herself from going crazy, but it would also keep everyone else at arm's length. She wanted to handle this alone.

And she should not have to.

"Artemis." Now she was bending down, her hands on her hips as she gave him a stern look. "You'll promise, won't you?"

He hated when she got this way, too. She could be scary when she was angry. And there was not much to do then except to humor her. He looked down, staring at the floor. "I promise," he mumbled.

She straightened up. "I knew I could count on you!" she said. "Now, how about we get some lunch?"

Artemis blinked, but then looked up and nodded. "Alright," he said as he began to stand.

Minako was already heading for the door. Artemis slowly followed. He had a bad feeling about this. But now that he had promised, he did not know what to do except to keep it—unless the time came that he could not.

And he hoped that time would never come.

If it did, that would mean that Minako's situation had grown much worse.

* * *

Kunzite did not know how long he had been sitting near the frozen Jadeite. The sky was not any lighter or darker, and the snow's fury had not lessened. It swirled from the thick clouds, as if determined to hide all proof that the Dark Kingdom had once existed. If it continued in this vein, maybe it would succeed.

A frown crossed his features. It almost sounded like music being carried by the wind, the same music that had filled his senses in Portman's laboratory. How was that possible? Was he hearing things that were not there? Yet, how could he have heard anything when he had awakened, either? He knew he had heard it then, and it was growing clearer now as well.

"_Kunzite-sama. . . ."_

He was standing in the next instant. A voice he had not heard for those three years was calling to him now. It was not his imagination. And a piece of a forgotten memory was coming back to him.

It was Zoisite playing the piano. He had been very skilled at it during a time long ago, the time before the Dark Kingdom that Kunzite could not remember. But Zoisite had not touched the instrument after they had come to work for Queen Beryl.

What did this mean? Was Kunzite hearing Zoisite from the afterlife? What other explanation could there be? Zoisite could not be alive again. That was impossible. His death had not been the same as when Kunzite had been dying and had apparently teleported away to Portman's location. Zoisite had looked so pale and ill as he had lain there, the last of his life slipping away. . . .

A cracking sound to his side caused him to whirl back and stare. The crystal entrapping Jadeite's body was weakening. The weather was certainly not causing it. Was it . . . the music? That sounded ridiculous, but so was the fact that he was hearing the music at all. Yet . . . Zoisite had sometimes been able to channel his powers through his piano.

The quartz shattered. Pieces flew in every direction, forcing Kunzite to bring up his arms to protect his face. He could hear them raining around him, falling into the snow. Slowly he straightened, turning to look again. Jadeite was laying lifeless amid the snow and broken crystal, which was expected. His head and neck, no longer supported by the prison, turned limply to the side.

But then he blinked as his cheek touched the snow.

He was alive.

That was not expected.


End file.
